


Expectations

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: Dragon Week 2017 [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Dragon/Rider - Freeform, Dragons, Hurt/Comfort, Len is Pissed, M/M, Magic, Mental Illness, i'm still bitter, self-indulgent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-06
Updated: 2017-01-06
Packaged: 2018-09-15 05:21:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9220481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: [Day 2]There are certain things Len expects when he wakes in 2016.Never thought he'd have to worry about the team taking care of Mick.[self-indulgent fic. You have been warned.]





	

**Author's Note:**

> the salt just won't stop omfg i'm so sorry
> 
> my dog's ACL was torn, and he's had surgery. Even when I start the damn thing and have a reputation for the dragons I can't post to Dragon Week on time lmao

There are certain things Len expects when he wakes up in 2016.

Aliens isn't one of them, but Len isn't necessarily complaining about that―so long as he gets to either speak to or fight at least one or five.

But he digresses.

He rightfully expects the world to be a little bit better. Maybe not a visible change―he cut strings, but invisible ones―but  _something_ to be improved, just a little. Maybe a confirmation from Gideon that Time is no longer a hostage, that he didn't hand his ass over for nothing.

And a thank you for said ass-handing. Who doesn't like a thank you?

That's all Len expects from the world as he hoists himself from his sister's couch and bears her not-so-subtle interrogation as to why she found her brother face-planted in an alleyway, and the inevitable arm punching and hugging that follows. (Len can neither confirm nor deny what his sister knows about the time travel.) Just a little proof he actually died for something, and a little acknowledgement. Not too much to ask, right?

"You seem pretty blase about the whole resurrection thing," Hartley tells him when Len follows Lisa downstairs.

Len grins with teeth that are just a little too sharp. "Fire cannot kill a dragon."

Hartley puts his head in his hands. "I don't know if I should be proud or annoyed."

Lisa gives Len an exasperated smirk. "Why settle for just one?"

Len intends to leave it there. He gives his sister a witty remark as an unspoken thanks-good to see you-love you-bye and heads for the door. Without looking, Lisa pushes her wing out of her human back and drapes it around his shoulders.

She hums, regarding her phone's gold lock screen with interest. "It's about lunch time, isn't it?" she asks Hartley.

When the golden wing yanks him back to Lisa's side, Len just makes sure he doesn't stumble on the way over. And now that the thinks about it, he's starving. Guess martyrdom takes a lot more outta you than he thought.

Fortunately the aliens wait until he's devoured a couple racks of lamb before hovering over Central City.

As a great sci-fi shadow descends over the skyscrapers, Len says, "Hey, sis? I think I'm gonna go for a walk."

They grip each other's elbows. Then Lisa's calling her Rogues and Len's rushing for the door.

He doesn't so much as unravel the shifting spell as tear it out of his shoulder and crush it underfoot. When he sees Mick again, he'll work with him to make another, but for right now, Len doesn't have time to spare for taking off his clothes, let alone try for finesse or careful spell storage.

The aliens are strong and all, but Len's pretty sure they have no idea dragons still exist. Or ever existed. As such, Len makes sure to roar them a nice  _hello, welcome to Earth_.

Pretty sure they didn't understand what he was saying, 'cause they start shooting real fast.

Len takes out a pawful before a familiar scent scrapes his tongue. Following it are a pool of other familiars, as well as a rancid scent most likely due to the aliens. Len corkscrews out of the remaining aliens' range and slices through the air after it.

Funny enough, he's soaked before he gets there. He'll give Jax and Stein a pass because they saved the world.

He gives himself a good shake once he lands on the right roof. The team has the good sense to clutch to the flyers among them and retreat to a neighboring building, letting him half-drown the fleeing aliens.

"That's a dragon," a girl in a red cape says. "That's a _dragon_!"

"Why is there a dragon?" Ray cries, " _How_ is there a dragon?"

"They are supposed to be extinct," says a woman in yellow and black.

"Extinct?!" Ray squeaks, reminding Len how much he didn't miss him, "As in, used to be alive?"

But under all of the rabble comes the most important voice: a ragged mutter of " _Son of a bitch_."

Len closes his nictitating membrane, peering through the droplets. That scent is still here. It sits heavy and acidic on his tongue, refusing to fade into an imprint as the spaceships book it. It's incredibly distinct―reminds Len of that time when Lisa dared him to squeeze human toothpaste on his tongue and chug orange juice. Only no one's laughing.

It takes another moment for Len to register it. He blames his sluggishness on account of being mostly dead for a while.

Someone is wounded. Someone is  _dying_. Yet everyone looks fine.

Except.

When Mick steps out of the small gathering, the scent gets stronger. Len snarls, startling the group but quickening his partner's approach. Mick knows he doesn't make that kind of growl unless something's wrong.

Len easily stretches from the cramped roof, setting his forelegs on the edge of its neighbor. As soon as Mick's close enough, he snatches him over.

"Mick!" Ray shouts. His suit weaponizes, but it's only Cape who surges back up.

Len pays him no mind. He sits back on his haunches, spreading his wings for balance. He cups Mick in both paws and peers at him closely.

No blood. No coughing or sniffling. A little heavier, sure, but he's been grieving. Aside from Mick looking 56 instead of 46, there's no physical evidence of an injury or disease.

Mick showers him with pets, which is nice an' all, but doesn't dissipate that  _rot_.

There's no internal hemorrhaging, no over-excess of blood anywhere. Nothing that could explain Mick's smelling like this. Len dips one of his nostrils over Mick's head and takes a long inhale. He licks the air again, just to be sure.

Mental injury, then. Is his bipolar acting up? Did he not check with Gideon when he needed to change his meds? But why not?

Len's eyes narrow, membrane blinking away. They are going to Talk about this.

"Did you tear out the spell?" Mick snaps.

Len grumbles.

"You couldn't wait to fight aliens, that it? You left yourself exposed!"

It's not like the aliens had a chance of hitting him. Their ships weren't firing squat either.

Mick grinds his teeth. "You coulda _died_ , Snart.  _Again_."

Len sobers.

Shit. He hadn't even thought of that possibility. Len's scales are invulnerable to everything from fire to tanks to an exploding particle accelerator, but he should've thought about the fact that the aliens were very much extraterrestrial, and so were their weapons. Draconic pride's one of his kind's worst faults.

He lightly noses Mick in apology. Mick heaves a deep sigh and leans against him.

Len doesn't even realize Ray fired a shot until Mick yells, " _What the fuck are you doing_?!"

The dragon smirks. What an adorable little human.

"Snart,  _no_."

What? It's only fair that Len defends himself.

"I know that look. You're not eating him."

Oh please. Len hasn't eaten human meat since his fledgling days.

" _Len_."

Len huffs in annoyance and settles back on his haunches.

Meanwhile, Firestorm's arrived with Sara and they're both demanding what's going on. Len sets Mick down to look at Sara. She's as fierce as ever, and just as badass in white leather. Also the last friend Len ever saw, and a friend to Mick. Len will have to get her alone and ask her about Mick.

But sadly, he'll need human lips for that.

Len gets Mick's attention and traces one of his talons in a circle.

"Huh? Oh, yeah," Mick mumbles, reaching behind his neck, "hang on."

He pulls Len's ring out from under his shirt. It hangs on a silver chain, which he pockets. The very edge of Len's claw can tap into its center, but the enchantment's powerful enough.

A crackling jolt, a flash of cold fire, and Len's sitting naked on a roof, the ring falling the rest of the way to his knuckle.

" _Snart_?" Jax yells. He's not the only one.

"Who's Snart?" Cape asks.

Mick puts his jacket on Len's shoulders and hauls him up. As he's crushed against him, Len asks, "What's goin' on with you, Mick?"

He doesn't expect a straight answer. Usually they respond to these kinda questions with certain nuances and tones that clue the other in. Even a bare "nothin'" says a lot.

Mick just shakes his head against Len's neck.

This is...not normal.

 

While Len's all for basking in the glory of a job well done, he's not gonna go in front of Mme. President and a buncha cameras for a damn medal. He'll settle for swiping it before the ceremony and heading back to the Waverider. Really, Sara, he doesn't want to. No, Ray, he doesn't care he'll be  _honored_ for his  _sacrifice_. Still no, Jax.

Time spat him out ass over wing. He's a little exhausted.

"May I say, Mr. Snart," Gideon says the instant he steps onboard, "it is a pleasure to welcome you back."

Len can't help smiling. "Can't complain myself, Gideon."

He goes to his old room and faceplants on the bed. Barry comes to get him for the superhero afterparty. Len gets a big ol' scarlet hug, a thousand thank yous, and a million renditions of "I told you there was good in you" before he's all the way outta bed.

As far as the appreciation expectation goes, he'll take the happy twink hero.

"Why didn't you tell me you were a  _dragon_? That's so amazing!"

Draconic vanity: second worst fault of the species.

 

Much as Len enjoys flirting with Sara, smirking at Barry, and making the vein pop in Oliver Queen's temple, he doesn't like the way Mick's put himself off to the side. Or the way the team interrupts any conversation he might have with the other heroes.

So. Unacceptable.

Len tries for a magnet effect. It's worked since juvie, and it's probably the worst/best thing for Len's ego. He sidles up to Mick, says a few words, and uses an excuse to walk away. This time, he uses the absolutely incredible cake and buffet table across the way.

And when Len starts walking, so Mick follows.  _Magnet_.

The dragon purrs in his throat as Mick reacts exactly as he intended, stepping from his shadowed corner without hesitation.

From there, it's just a matter of silently handing Mick a water bottle instead of more beer and keeping him from that corner. Mick gives him a stink eye for the water, but there's an easing relief in his face. 

After the party, Len crosses his arms and says, "So. Skirt, huh?"

A smile teases at Mick's lips―

"Don't worry," Sara says, "we told her to ignore it."

―never mind.

"Did you bother the pretty alien, Mick?" Len asks, putting an edge of teasing in his voice so Sara will keep quiet.

Mick shrugs. He looks right at Len's chin and gives Len a tight smirk. "Not my fault she looks good in one."

And.  _What_?

If anything, Kara seemed to focus on the "call me" instead of the "Skirt." She's one to wear her emotions on her sleeve like Barry. If she'd really been uncomfortable, Len would've seen it and had Mick stop. If anything, she was confused at Mick's words and nothin' else.

And Mick woulda seen somethin' too. And he woulda stopped. Mick has done plenty of bad in his life, said a lotta degrading shit to people with and without thinking, but in the end, Len has yet to see him cross a line.

Instead of calling him out, Sara rolls her eyes and tells the team to head back to the ship.

Len decides not to talk to her about Mick after all.

If Mick sees the sharp look Len sends him, he doesn't do anything about it. If anything he turns his eyes to the floor and follows the team out.

Len turns his head and coughs a couple plumes of smoke.

 

When Len sees Mick's room, he smirks and says, "Well done."

The dull sadness lifts from Mick's shoulders, just enough for Len to smile back.

"Thought you'd like it," Mick says. "Team doesn't even know half the stuff I took."

"Only half?" Len asks. "Ship security gettin' too hot for you?"

Mick kisses him. His lips are smooth as Len's are chapped, like it's been for the past 20+ years. Len hooks his fingers in his belt loops as easy as if he'd never―left. His wings bleed through his back, snaking through the ultra-thin holes in his shirt and jacket Gideon implemented, cocooning Mick.

"Fuck," Mick whispers. He digs his fingers behind Len's ears. "You're fucking― _Lenny_."

"Kinda hard to do that, Mick."

Mick snorts wetly. "You son of a bitch. Shoulda known. That why you gave me your ring?"

"No," Len replies quietly, "I didn't know."

Their foreheads press harshly together. "You're a real bastard, y'know that?" Mick growls.

"I'll breathe fire for you," Len says.

Mick huffs. "You're gonna be breathin' fire for me for the rest of your long-ass life."

Len tightens his wings around him. "Deal. You got any matches?"

Mick nods to his left. "Do yah one better."

Under a bunch of various motors and mechanical parts is a desk shoved in the corner of the room. Mick starts digging through a drawer.

"Nicked this from Haircut's lab," he says, "still hasn't noticed." He takes out a petri dish. "And I still got some oil in here somewhere...gimme a sec."

"That won't hold my flame," Len practically hisses.

"I's a future-y thing. Equipment like this is made to withstand your kinda fire, trust me. By 2069, they got these flame-retardant lines started. These babies are from 2165. I checked."

Len wrinkles his nose. "We'll see."

Mick plops in his chair, clears some space, and pours the oil into the dish. Len leans down and gently blows.

They both jerk back when the flame comes out blue.

"Whoa," Mick murmurs. He leans forward.

Panic squeezes Len's gut. "One helluva side-effect, huh?"

Mick's knuckles whiten on the edges of his desk. "Gideon!" he barks, "Do a scan of Snart. There anything wrong with him?"

"Mr. Snart is perfectly healthy," Gideon reports.

Len relaxes.

"The only anomaly is the excess of temporal energy in his system that has fused with his genetic makeup."

What.

Len looks to Mick. But Mick looks thoughtful.

"You're okay," Mick tells him, "we'll just get 'em to monitor it is all. But if you haven't destroyed yourself yet, we're good."

"What exactly is going on?" Len asks tightly.

Mick's relaxing into his well-fit reverence of fire. "Means that your fire's got some Oculus in it," he says. "You've probably got traces of Time. Dragons and Time are clearly buddies,"―he shoots Len a Look―"worst case scenario is maybe you accidentally pause Time with this stuff."

"Are you telling me my fire can now manipulate Time?" Len says.

"I dunno. It'd be awesome though."

There. That's the Mick Rory grin Len remembers.

"Well, you enjoy my Time fire," Len drawls, "I'm hittin' the hay."

He retracts his wings long enough to take off his jacket and shirt before letting them out again. He takes Mick's bed.

The lights dim to nothing. Len falls asleep to the sight of Mick's face wreathed in blue.

 

It never occurred to Len that the Legends wouldn't treat Mick right. After Chronos, everybody seemed gung-ho about the whole redemption business, if not for Mick then at least for reasons important enough to make them care about him by proxy. Len's been a criminal long enough to know that that'll do in a pinch.

It wasn't an expectation of his when he came back. For him, it'd been accepted fact that the team would continue accepting Mick in their fold, especially when Mick was about to sacrifice himself in Ray's stead and had to be forcibly removed from the damn failsafe.

He'd heard the gist of the whole invasion story. Ramon, Smoak, Supergirl, Ray, Jax, Stein, and Sara all had something to say.

But there were just a few little details he wasn't told about.

The next morning, Mick's sufficiently relaxed enough for Len to drag him to the medbay without much trouble. While Mick doesn't give him a good excuse for skipping out on his meds, Len makes sure Gideon notes the dosage and makes Mick set up a time table with his two new favorite bottles. Bipolar's a bitch, especially when you've got pyromania on top of it, and Mick ain't getting by like he's been doing anymore.

After the pills are swallowed and dropped off in Mick's room, Len leads the way to the galley. With any luck, he can try to ease Mick off the stress eating a little. That awful scent still clogs every breath.

Since the dragon's outta the cave, he leaves his wings out and curls his tail around his waist. When he sits down with some blueberry pancakes, he drapes a wing around Mick's shoulders for morning scratches along the fleshy pink membranes.

"That is so cool," Jax says.

Len unwinds his tail and smirks. "I know."

In his periphery, Mick rolls his eyes. His partner seems far more content today: his posture's relaxed, and he eats his bacon and eggs with unhurried movements, giving Len a few more happy scratches when one of his hands are free (and wiped,  _Mick_ ). Once the meds have time to kick in, that stench of illness will fade into a near-untraceable tang.

"We were just talking about the aliens," Sara says.

"I'm sure we'll be talking about that for a while," Len says.

"I felt like a real superhero," Jax gushes. "Like, I thought I did before, y'know, with all this fixin' history and savin' the world from Savage, but fightin' aliens? That was some comic book level stuff."

"Well, you  _did_ turn a bomb into water," Len says. "Nice job, kid."

Jax beams, reminding Len a little of Lisa.

Then he goes and ruins the comparison by saying, "Coulda done without the mind control, though."

Len takes a bite of his pancakes to divert their attention while he flicks his eyes to Mick. He'd been hoping they wouldn't bring that up.

The contentment is replaced by a practiced blankness that Len hates on the spot.

Mick hums. "Definitely coulda done without that."

"Well you got lucky, Rory," Jax says with a big grin, "probably wasn't any different than normal for you."

By the time Len finishes blinking, Mick's yanking him away from a wheezing Jax and a horrified Sara. A snarl is ripping through his human throat.

"Jefferson?" Stein's voice calls. "Are you alright?"

He rushes into the room with Ray on his heels. "Goodness! What happened?"

" _Wasn't any different_?" Len roars, slitted eyes burning blue and orange. "You think that's funny, do you? You fucking asshole, how  _dare_ you―"

"Hey!" Sara snaps, hand at waist height, "It was a joke, Leonard."

Len struggles against Mick. This damn shifting spell makes him  _weak_. "You humans and your little  _jokes_. Wanna know what's really funny, Sara? You  _heroes_ calling  _us_ the villains."

Mick narrowly avoids another enraged slap of the dragon's wings. "Snart―"

Len shoves from his hold and rounds on him. "Gideon!"

"Yes, Mr. Snart?"

"How many years was Chronos active?"

A terrible, heavy silence crashes over the room.

Gideon promptly replies, "Due to his multiple jumps through the time stream, I cannot give you an exact number. The closest approximation is seven hundred and ten years."

Mick's arms fall limp at his sides.

Slowly, Len turns back to Jax. Vindication sizzles in his lungs when he sees the wide, shamed eyes of the four proclaimed heroes.

"What's the matter?" Len hisses, talons clicking on the floor, "I thought you were just making a joke."

Jax puts up a hand. "Mick, I didn't mean―"

Len's jaw pops with the force of another roar. Jax is effectively silenced.

"You have no excuse," Len rumbles. " _None_ of you do. Next you'll be tellin' me you made that fucking  _joke_ right after it happened."

Silence. Fucking.  _Silence_.

"Mr. Snart," Gideon says, "I have taken the liberty of docking in an uninhabited area. I recommend you disembark immediately to avoid unnecessary injury and death to the other team members on board."

"Unnecessary, huh?" Len says, taking another threatening step forward, "These humans insult my partner, my kin, and you would call my vengeance unnecessary?"

" _Leonard Snart_."

Len whips his head to Mick.

"You're not thinkin' straight," says his rider, "you don't kill, remember? You made a vow."

"I vowed not to kill innocents," Len says, "Do these strike you as innocent?"

"You wanna kill, or do you wanna fly?"

Len's eyes narrow. It's true they have not flown together since his return. Even though it's been less than a day, it feels like too long.

But.

Mick clamps on his elbow. The bones feel abnormal now, the skin restricting.

"Let's go, Snart. We can fly as long as you want. I'll get a big coat on, yeah? You can fly to the coldest parts of the sky."

Reluctantly, Len lets himself be led from the delicious images of blood and into the clear air.

"I'll get the gear," Mick says. "You unweave the spell and cool off."

Len growls, but obeys.

Fucking heroes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading The Trash


End file.
